


Like a Rule 63 Rutger Hauer

by frogfarm



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Blind Character, Blindness, Multi, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 17:38:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: She may have lost her sight, but there is still infinite joy to be found in the universe.Post-"The Horror of Fang Rock". Leela POV.





	Like a Rule 63 Rutger Hauer

**Author's Note:**

> Minor dialogue recycled from canon.

Leela runs after the Doctor, hot on his heels as they skid down the rocky hillside. She can barely hear his shouts of danger for the blood singing in her ears, the joy over her fallen Rutan foe expanding in her heart at the thought of its brothers in the doomed ship above. They would meet the same fate, and Vince and Harker would be avenged. And, she supposed, the others as well, though she had not particularly cared for them...

Light floods her sight like a sea of suns. She stumbles, hands outstretched, anticipating the ground below. Instead she finds herself enveloped in the Doctor's embrace, her face pressed against the ridiculously long bit of cloth that constantly hangs about his neck. Spots dance before her eyes, flaring and fading in a dizzying display as her hammering heart slows, then skips a beat. She can feel him moving as he lifts his head; imagine his cool, analytical gaze taking her in, dissecting her to the core. 

"Slay me, Doctor." She fumbles for words but not her knife as she smoothly draws the blade, reversing it in her hand to place it in his. "It is the fate of the old and crippled."

The Doctor clears his throat, sounding mildly awkward. "Leela? What's wrong?" 

"I am blinded." Her voice shakes, but the knife remains steady. "Please -- do not make this any harder."

"Ah." He sounds oddly reassured as he pats her on one shoulder. "Well, in a way -- I am honored. But, though you've not been with me long --"

She's about to protest and he hastily continues. "I am quite fond of you."

"Oh." She ought to be glad, she thinks, that he actually admitted it. But the fading lights are nearly gone, leaving only darkness in their wake.

"I hope you can understand. What you ask is...awfully hard."

She nearly laughs at the understatement in his voice. In that moment, she thinks, the gulf between their peoples could not be more vast.

"I know." She tries to sound as kindly as possible as she takes his hand in her own. "But it must be done."

A warm chuckle rumbles up from his chest, through her cheekbones. "I'm afraid I'm going to ask you to do something even harder."

Leela has a feeling she knows the answer. "What is that?"

He stands, pulling her with him before stepping back, holding onto her hand.

"Live."

* * *

Now, hours later, she sits by the river in what she's come to think of as her room in the TARDIS. The Doctor had said he would be right back, but that could take hours without her to guide him. She'll have to see if her innate sense of direction still holds without the luxury of sight, or if she is doomed to join the Doctor in forever being lost in his own home.

 _Your sight may yet return,_ he had gently reminded her. _And in the meantime, you're far from useless._

She hugs her knees to her chest, envisioning her unblinking eyes staring at nothing. The Doctor had not thought to ask for her pouch of Janis thorns, and so it seems the height of poor manners to use one to take her life. In this alone, his influence on her is already apparent. She's still wrestling with herself over the silliness of it all when her ears prick up at the sound of his footstep.

"There we are." A slight grunt escapes him as he lowers himself to the ground beside her. "Are you cold?"

"No." She doesn't trust herself with more. 

"I know I had it here somewhere." The Doctor sounds distracted, the slight rustling indicating him to be engaged in going through his voluminous coat pockets. "Did you still want me to sleep here?"

"Yes." She nods, looking away; blinking back sudden tears at the sound of the babbling brook at their feet, the smell of grass and earth. This has always been her favorite room in the TARDIS, more so even than the vast marble sauna with its decadent and perpetually heated pool. Here she can imagine herself on her own little planet, hurtling through the cosmos.

Luckily, the Doctor has never needed her to steer a conversation. He tells a few jokes, which she doesn't get, and then says: "Would you like to hear a story?"

She blinks, briefly taken aback before considering the notion.

"I would."

"Excellent." Another bit of rustling emerges from the darkness. "I'm afraid I don't have this one memorized, but I did find a copy. Written by a fellow I've mentioned before, name of Wells. Very _apropos_."

As is customary, Leela finds herself having some trouble following the Doctor's thoughts. Then the rustling clarifies itself, and the picture forms inside her own head of paper, bound and scribed upon.

"Is this some cruel joke?" The bitter edge to her voice twists the knife deeper still. "Tell me I am not useless, then find the one thing I can no longer --"

"Leela." His tone is only mildly reproving, but the echo of her own father is enough to cause her immediate silence. 

"I am sorry," she manages, after a moment. She swallows her anger, striving for the stillness of meditative trance. Every good hunter knew it; relied on it to remain aware of things, to keep their emotions from getting them killed.

"I think you'll find this provides some interesting perspective to your situation." A slight slurping sound, followed by the clink of china; in her head the Doctor places his cup of tea back on its ornate saucer.

" _Three hundred miles and more from Chimborazo. One hundred from the snows of Cotopaxi. In the wildest wastes of Ecuador's Andes, there lies that mysterious mountain valley, cut off from all the world of men: the Country of the Blind..._ "

Her thoughts awhirl with the images painted by his words, Leela succumbs soon enough to their spell. Except at some point she finds herself torn from the story by abrupt realization, as the sound of moving paper connects with other things.

"You are reading a book."

"Er...yes." He sounds a touch confused by her accusation. "Is there a problem?"

"Not a book on computer?"

"No." And now a touch of amusement to his voice. Leela continues stubbornly on.

"And it is nighttime, here, right now --"

"And I haven't built a fire?" The Doctor chuckles. Leela finds herself smiling at the recollection of his frustrated inability to produce a spark from flint and tinder.

"Then how --" 

"Feel." And his fingers grasp her own, guiding her hand to the open page where an odd series of tiny bumps rise up, covering its surface.

"It's a book you could read. If you wanted to." He pats her hand and releases it, his didactic side asserting control once more. "Nearly died out, of course, what with advances in audio technology and digital storage. But there's always someone to keep a dead language going. Look at Esperanto."

"How would I look at --"

"Figure of speech. Now, do you want to hear the rest?"

Unsurprisingly, she very much does indeed. Except when they get to the pitch point of fevered action and intrigue, he stops again, noting the historical existence of two different endings to the story: One ambiguously implying that Nunez somehow escapes the valley, and a revised version where he tries to warn the villagers of a rockslide, they scoff, and he and the blind girl flee the valley together.

"I have to say," the Doctor concludes, "despite my literary preferences -- it does seem more uplifting." She can hear the smile in his voice. "After all... we all need companions."

She quickly wipes away a surreptitious tear. "Then I suppose I must be yours."

"Well -- not that you aren't a lovely young woman, but --" A genuine hint of embarassment colors the richness of his timbre. "Should you happen to come across someone you fancy in our travels -- please don't hesitate on my account."

An amused snort escapes her at the notion, but he's already continuing.

"What about you? I mean, if you're going to be my traveling companion, I should know a bit more about you. Any brothers or sisters?"

Leela shakes her head. "No. I was the only one."

He shifts beside her, settling into a more comfortable position. "What about your parents?"

"My mother died of the fever when I was a child. My father --" She swallows at the memory. "He was killed in the test of the Horda."

"Shame." The single word rings from the Doctor's lips like the most eloquent of eulogies. "I'm sure he was a wise man."

"He was the wisest man I have ever known." Leela clears her throat. "Until I met you."

"Good genetics." The Doctor chuckles. "You really should consider passing them on."

She can feel herself frown. "What do you mean?"

His hand is warm on her shoulder, a reassuring presence.

"It would be a shame to have no children of your own."

* * *

" _There are many options._ " Leela can hear the metal dog's tail wiggle with excitement, underscoring his statement. " _Simple transplants. Cybernetic implants. Neuro reprogramming. Biocultured organic eyes..._ "

"Pay him no mind," Professor Marius chuckles. "He's always eager to share his knowledge."

"He and the Doctor will get along perfectly." Leela tries not to sound overly disgruntled, but the professor takes her annoyance in stride.

"And I assure you, my dear, I meant nothing derogatory by my theories. The fact that the virus didn't attack you does _not_ mean that you aren't intelligent -- not at all."

"Are you sure?" She can't help her suspicion, though he sounds kind and honest. This invisible enemy has her on edge, imagining death behind every smile.

"What we call intelligence are simply different ways of interacting with the world. Most people use a variety of styles, whereas men of science like myself tend to be..." A rueful chuckle. "Overly analytical, let us say."

She cocks her head, trying not to imagine herself as seen from the outside. "What do you mean?"

"For instance," the professor continues. "If I encountered a new alien species, which turned out to be predatory or even hostile, I might be so fascinated -- so caught up in thinking about it, and trying to learn more -- I might be dead before I realized what had happened. You on the other hand, would instinctively avoid it -- or kill without hesitation."

She's still thinking about it later when a rift opens inside her mind, followed by a flood of images that slowly settle into place. The Doctor says it's due to the quantum effect, from the memories of her dead miniaturized self combining with her own. But nothing in her experience can prepare her for the magnitude of amazement she feels at the sights to be seen in their journey through the Doctor's own brain. The caves and jungles, the colorful electrical storms, all fill her with wonder twice over as she vicariously relives the experience.

"Well?" The Doctor's good humor is restored, from the sound of things. "What do you think?"

She pretends to mull it over.

"Your mind is very messy."

* * *

"You were right when you said my blindness would be to my advantage at some point." Leela tries not to think of those other poor souls who died in terror, screaming their hearts out at the sight of the alien spirit. "And I have learned something more this time."

"Oh?" As expected, she can hear him immediately perk up. "What's that?"

"Doctor, you created my people. Without you, I would not be here. I would not be who I am. And so it is with these Fendahl."

It's even worse when they're trapped underground with the Minyans a few weeks later, and at some point she turns to the Doctor in sheer disbelief.

"Is there a race in the universe that has _not_ meddled with my ancestors? It's as if we were some mad experiment! A plaything for any passing alien to meddle with!"

"Believe me," the Doctor mutters. "You're seeing the downside of Time Lords being worshiped as gods. Minyos is what led to that whole non-interference policy. Which made things even worse --"

"You do not understand." Her hand forms into a fist. "It is as if my life -- the lives of every one of my people -- has been a lie."

"Absolutely not." His firm reassurance brooks no argument. "Your tribe were a fine, fierce people. A proud warrior race. And more importantly, one of the many offshoots of _homo sapiens_ that guaranteed your long-term survival. Your ancestors were explorers who went out into the universe. To go where no man had gone before."

She swallows the first few replies, thinking it all over.

_And where will I end up?_

* * *

"A blind warrior would lead us against the Citadel?" The sound of Jasko spitting punctuates his sneer.

Leela brandishes her knife, keeping him at bay. "Had we the time, I would prove myself against your best men. And when we had finished, your men would be dead, and all of Gallifrey in chains."

The chorus of reactions arise from the other tribesmen sounds mostly positive on Leela's behalf. After all, they've just watched her disarm one of their largest warriors, getting back her knife and putting him on his back on the ground into the bargain. Still, she hoped it wouldn't come to taking on the lot of them.

"This is madness!" Rodan's desperation is clear. Leela can hear her a few paces behind and to her left, still held captive between a pair of guards. "What reason would we have to lie about this? Gallifrey is being invaded, and you may be the only ones left who can help!"

"Not such a crazy story." That voice is Nesbin, stern yet thoughtful. "But how do we know we can trust you?"

"We do not need to capture the entire Citadel. Merely rescue the Doctor." Leela stands tall and proud, steadfast in her conviction. "He will know what to do."

The surprising part isn't that he does, but that he forgets only moments later. Leela's shock at the complete lack of guile in the Doctor's voice, the certain knowledge that he truly remembers nothing of the monumental events since first donning the Sash of Rassilon, quickly turns to pity and then resignation. If the Doctor cannot remember, perhaps it is truly for the best.

What pains her more is the lack of any physical gesture on his part. Then again, Andred and Rodan are still tightly flanking her, seemingly protective but in the end looking more like hangers-on.

"Ah." Leela can hear the universe in that syllable as the Doctor takes in the sight of them, all three holding one another's hands. "I see."

Andred awkwardly clears his throat. "I hope that --"

"Yes, I'm sure you do. She'll look after you." The Doctor chuckles. "She's terribly good with a knife."

He seems even more surprised when K-9 likewise abandons ship, but still it doesn't ruffle his composure. Only at the last, as the TARDIS vanishes into the ether, does she imagine a voice on the wind:

_I'll miss you too, savage._

She turns to Rodan, hot with anticipation. "You said you wanted many children."

"Yes." The Time Lady's breathless reply quivers with longing. Andred holds them both close, his steady embrace a silent show of full support.

Leela leans over, taking the time to give her new companion the kind of kiss she deserves before pulling back with a smile.

"So do I."


End file.
